In the Name of the Brotherhood
by Sazzypants
Summary: What would you do if you knew that you destroyed your lover's world? how would you react if you knew you destroyed the only good thing you had? only the desire of revenge will allow their wounds to heal. SLASH AltMal AU! Kind sorta, at least... ;;
1. Chapter 1

Okay, so I'm a bit skeptic with this story but I've REALLY enjoyed writing it. The constant hand cramps that I have on a daily basis (since this was hand written then typed) is proof of that. 6 chapters, probably around 100 pages o far…this is a great success for me! ^^; *has never written more than a 3 chapter story*

But, anyways, I digress. Obviously, even though it's AU (Alternate Universe, for those who don't know), it loosely follows the Assassin's Creed plotline. ^^; I decided not to go into great detail with the 8 targets 'cause then the story would get too long and I'd abandon it. ^^;

Anyways, it's rated M for a reason people. That means yummy Yaoi, boyXboy, slash, whatever you want to call it.

Oh…and did I mention that I have a soft spot for Kadar and his adorable innocence?? w

**Disclaimer:** Assassin's Creed © Ubisoft

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

"You're just mad because you know I'm right," came an arrogant voice in the quite halls of the community college.

"Right? HA! That's something to laugh about." the second voice sounded bitter and scornful, but it was beginning to sound forced.

"C'mon, Mal. Don't be like that," the first voice spoke again. It was still laced with arrogance but held a soothing undertone. "Let's just finish this up, Malik. Then we can go home."

"Why, Altaïr! I'm impressed. You're being productive," Malik replied. He lent against the wall and watched his friend continue to work.

Altaïr rolled his grey eyes in annoyance but continued with his work silently. He knew Malik was just trying to anger him again, and he wouldn't follow it. He also knew that Malik wasn't upset with him any more, but the man was so stubborn that he was trying to find ways to make himself angry again! He wasn't about to grant the brunette his wish since he was busy sweeping the floors of the college halls as punishment for getting into a fight on school grounds. Malik was there because he was the one Altaïr fought with, but of course he wasn't going to pull his own weight. He supposed he deserved the work, since it was his fault, but it didn't mean that he enjoyed it.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Altaïr finished sweeping with little to no help from his friend. The two left the building, returning to the dorms where they lived.

~.~

Their dorm was more like a small, one story house. It was nice and it fit Altaïr, Malik, and Malik's brother Kadar easily. Unfortunately, no matter how nice their dorm house was, the unholy smell that lingered in it when they returned home was not something they enjoyed. A small amount of smoke clouded around the kitchen's ceiling, crawling with its gassy arms towards the door. There, by the stove, stood a blue eyed boy as he tried with all his might to save his food.

Altaïr pushed past the boy, Kadar, and examined the food on the stove. Sure enough, Kadar had managed to fail at cooking another dish. That time it was spaghetti sauce from a jar that Kadar burnt into a hard, black crisp.

"I'm sorry, Altaïr," Kadar apologized when the elder man turned to him.

"We told you not to cook for a reason, Kadar," Altaïr scolded, but not too harshly. If he had said anything to upset Kadar, or something that Malik deemed too harsh, Altaïr would be pinned to the floor and at the receiving a beating.

"What were you trying to make?" Malik asked.

"I wanted to make you spaghetti, but I messed even that up!" Kadar threw his hands into the air in frustration.

Malik sighed and made his way over to the stove, trying to squeeze past Altaïr and his brother in their small cooking space. He lifted the lid to the pot that was also on the stove and examined its contents. "The noodles are just fine! We'll just make more meat sauce," Malik decided.

"We're all out of meat," Altaïr called from where he stood by the fridge.

"What's fine. We'll just use the sauce."

Altaïr raised an eyebrow at him. "We're out of jars of sauce as well."

"Then we'll make it from scratch!"

"We don't have any tomato paste."

Malik was beginning to become frustrated. "Then we'll use ketchup!"

"Wha-? That's disgusting!"

"Then why don't _you_ think of something, Altaïr!"

The two went on bickering and Kadar sat on the counter, watching. A knowing smile graced his features and his blue eyes sparkled with joy. Never was his brother so alive than when he argued with Altaïr. Kadar was beginning to understand why, even if his brother still had no idea.

~.~

Kadar and Malik sat on the couch, watching TV and talking amongst themselves. Altaïr watched them from around the corner, waiting for the right time to move. Then, shortly after, he snuck out as quiet as a mouse and shut the door silently behind him.

"Altaïr?" Malik called out after he heard the barely audible click of the door latch. After he was graced with silence as a reply, he shook his head as he turned back around to face the TV.

Kadar smiled brightly and tried to hide it with his hand, but Malik noticed. He shot his baby brother a questioning look. "What?' Malik asked.

"Nothing!" Kadar waved off the question as he choked back a laugh.

"Tell me." Malik demanded with narrowed eyes.

Knowing he had no choice and he'd have to explain eventually (because his brother was as stubborn as a mule and would never stop asking until he got an answer), so he caved. "Do you have some sixth sense that tells you whenever Altaïr is around?"

"Of course not! That's the most _ridiculous_ thin I've ever heard! I heard the door shut, is all," Malik explained. He could feel his cheeks heat up slightly.

"Uh-huh," Kadar replied, unbelieving of his brother's explanation. "I never heard the door shut. Didn't know he actually left until you called out his name. I wonder why that is…" Kadar trailed off thoughtfully as he popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

Malik shot an embarrassed glare at his brother, before turning his attention back to the TV. Why _do_ I always notice the things that Altaïr does? He asked himself as he sulked on the couch. Little did he know, his baby brother knew_ exactly_ why.

~.~

The deafening sound of metal clashing with metal rang though the still, humid, summer air of the empty warehouse. The shuffling of feet, followed by the sharp crack of broken bone followed next, the sounds echoing off the empty concrete walls. The body fell to the ground in a lifeless heap and the victor turned to his master expectantly.

"Very good. You're improving every day, Altaïr," the master spoke into the silence.

Altaïr bowed to the man. "Thank you, Mast Al Mualim."

The master, Al Mualim, was past the prime of his life. His face sagged in areas, wrinckles noticeable in others, and his stringy, long beard was grey from old age- or stress. His good eye, a dull grey-blue, shown with a fire of his younger days, while his blind eye, grey and empty, just followed around objects in the darkness.

"You are advancing in ranks. Soon, you will be a master assassin!" he grinned at the young, grey-eyed man who was kneeling before him.

"Yes, Master," he replied obediently.

Al Mualim walked over to his apprentice and placed two calloused hands on his broad shoulders. "Come," he said. "Go home and rest. Tomorrow night is you initiation, so you must be prepared."

Altaïr nodded and began to head home. He was a skilled fighter - one of the best among his master's men - and yet, even the best of the best still get injuries. He hoped Malik and Kadar had gone to bed already, but his luck was never that good. AS he always was, Malik was waiting at the door with a first aid kit in hand.

"Mal-" Altaïr began, but was cut off when Malik pulled him to the table in the kitchen.

Malik sat his friend down and began to examine his wounds. Only a few bruises and scrapes here and there, but most were bleeding. He watched his friend who harbored a harsh expression but touched him with such gentle and caring hands.

"It's not as bad as last time," Malik mumbled with sad eyes, "but you'll be sore for a few days."

Altaïr recalled the last injury. He had gotten slashed across his chest by a sword and Malik had to drag him to the hospital to get stitches. It wasn't too bad (of course Malik used the convenient pool of blood around him to say his injury _was_ very serious), but it had really bother Malik to see his friend so badly injured. "Malik…" Altair call out softly. The brown eyed man ignored him and continued on with his rant.

"Really, it's amazing the dorm admin hasn't kicked us out yet! All the crap you get yourself into.."

"Malik," Altaïr said a bit more firmly.

"He must've made some sort of agreement with you. Keep the trouble away and you can stay? It would make sense-"

Malik was cut off as two strong arms wrapped around him and pulled his body foreword. Altaïr cradled Malik against his chest while mumbling words of apology. Malik returned the gesture only when he allowed himself to acknowledge how worried for his grey-eyed friend he really was.

"I'm sorry make you worry," Altaïr whispered as he gave Malik another squeeze.

Malik sighed and rested his forehead against Altaïr's shoulder. "Just try not to get hurt from no on, okay?" Malik pleaded.

He felt the younger man nod his head in agreement. "I promise that I'll try."

Malik pulled away and began to pack up the kit. "You should get some rest."

And Altaïr agreed with his worried friend. He was very tired. He stood up and began to head towards his room, but paused. "Are you coming?" he asked when he noticed Malik wasn't following.

"I will in a minute," Malik replied.

When he heard the door to Altaïr's room close, he collapsed in the chair and cradled his head in his hands. His heart clenched out of worry for his friend. How long would it be until Altaïr returned with another injury like his last? Bloodied and on the verge of bleeding out. How long before he didn't return at all? The memory of Altaïr's injuring poked thought to his subconscious, making him feel even worse…

Altaïr wouldn't tell him what happened no matter how much Malik had begged and pleaded. Eh found his friend collapsed in the kitchen, laying in a pool of his own blood. He remember how Altaïr's grey sweatshirt soaked up the red liquid, and how shallow his breathing was. He remembered how unfocused his friend's beautiful slate eyes looked as he stared off into space…

Malik stood up suddenly, snapping his mind back to reality. His hands shook with fear for his friend's life, and he had to stop and think about what Altaïr's death would do o him. He didn't know how he'd react, but he did know that his death would be just as devastating - maybe even more so - as the death of his parents so many years ago.

Malik sighed, his breath uneven, and headed to his room. He had to do something before it was too late…

~.~

"Are you ready for this mission? It will decide your future in life," Al Mualim warned.

"What what would happen if I were to fail?" Altaïr asked out of curiosity.

"If you fail, you life would not change. You would have no life. If you fail, that means you are dead."

"Then, this is suicide mission?" that fact slightly startled Altaïr.

"Of course. Only the best of the best are allowed among our ranks. But, do not worry, my son. I have total confidence in your abilities."

Altaïr nodded to his master. He was worried about what Malik would say when he would return home, so he was even more intent on not getting injured. He wasn't even going to consider dying. Not being able to return home to Malik and Kadar...that was just unacceptable. But, it had been weeks since his last meeting (though Al Mualim said it would only be a day) and this was his initiation mission. He had to put aside such feelings so he could concentrate on what really mattered: the mission.

"Am I to go alone?" he asked. That simple fact would affect his outcome greatly.

Al Mualim shook his head. "No, I'll be sending too novice informers with you. They joined recently and are close to your level in combat skills, so I thought they should take the initiation meeting with you. But, they are your backup, Altaïr. Do not abuse their presence there."

"Yes, master," Altaïr replied, obedient as always.

"Would you like to meet the now, or later?" the master asked.

"Later."

"Then go and prepare. Safety and Peace, Altaïr."

"And to you, as well, Master."

~.~

Altaïr had prepared as Al Mualim had instructed him to. He polished his hidden blade, cleaned his gun and checked to see how his supply on ammo was. He hated that thing. The exhilaration he got from stabbing his enemy, feeling their life drain out of them through the metal that ran along his arm, and feeling the flesh crumble beneath his superior strength…that was not something he got from aiming and firing a bullet. But, he understood that in his day and age, a gun was a necessary weapon. He knew that you were never to bring a sword to a gun fight.

Altaïr snapped on his weapons, zipped up his grey sweatshirt that was the novice assassin's uniform, and pulled the hood up so I covered his face in shadows.

It took his ten minutes for him to walk to the meeting place. When he got there, two men clad in brown sweatshirts - the color of a novice informer - looked over at him with hood covered faces. The small, dark warehouse had nothing but a dim lamp hanging from the ceiling, so he couldn't see their features.

"Were you debriefed on the mission?" Altaïr asked as he came to a stop before him.

The tallest man - taller than Altaïr by two inches - nodded and led him over to a table. "This is a two part mission. He first part is our initiation mission and we will be given command over the second part if we succeed.

"We're heading straight into Templar territory tonight. They have a very important item that Mast Al Mualim wants us to retrieve, so we are to go around and take out the night watchmen. The item is currently being shipped to our target building and will arrive in a matter of days. That's not enough time for the Templars to regroup and get new watchmen. And, even if they do, they'll be unskilled and nothing more than novices."

"Do you know what this item is? Or why it's so important?"

The shorter one shook their head. "No. The master would not give us, or anyone else, any information." Altaïr noted that the second novice was female.

"All we know is that it's an important part of Al Mualim's plans," the man explained. "but, we do know that it's so important that the simple task of taking out guards is a possible suicide mission."

Altaïr nodded, his mood grim.. It seemed as though he was getting himself into something that he may not be able to handle. Once again, he thought of Malik and he was forced to ignore the emotion for the sake of the mission's success. "Let's go."

* * *

**OMG YAY~! I'm finally done~! Please critique and give your opinions!**

**Don't think of my feelings people! Be as harsh as possible! The guilt will make me improve~. w *has tried this tactic before and has succeeded***

**Btw, sorry for any grammar issues. I didn't do a very thorough job of editing it because I was in a hurry to upload the chapter. That way, I could see everyone's reactions before I decided to continue.**

**And, sorry for the lack of yaoi in this chapter. Next chapter has some nice shonen-ai(kissy stuffs) for ya! ;D or maybe it's chapter 3...*can't remember. Can't keep track of the 6 chapters already written***


	2. Chapter 2

**Well! I am pleased with the reviews I got~! XDD Not as many as I had hoped for, but what should I expect from my lazy, unedited first chapter? XD;; oh well! (BTW, sorry for the slow update. I've had some issues with my computer, but it's all good now…I hope. ^^;) **

**I'd like to give a special thanks to Grios. They reviewed anonymously, so I couldn't reply and that made me sad. D: but, I hope you're reading this, Grios~! I REALLY REALLY appreciated your review. I was aware that I made some errors, but you pointed them out in a very kinda way and I appreciate it.**

**I know what you mean about the 'from no on' part. It kills me to know I've made such a poor mistake, but I was rushed to post the chapter before I had left for a week! ^^; I will take you advice, though. I probably wont get a beta ('cause I'm an impatient woman who's perfectly capable at editing my own work) but I will reread my chapters I few times over. I hate grammar mistakes. D: and the advice about Kadar as well, but I figured it wouldn't matter since the little darling wont be along much longer. *dies a little inside* I love that adorable boy! T______T**

**So, thank you very much for you wonderful review~! 3**

**I also thank all the other amazing and da peoples~! I love you lot~! *blows a kiss***

**Disclaimer:**** this is a non-profit story. I do not make any money or take rights over the characters. Udisoft owns all that is Assassin's Creed.**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

* * *

His mission had gone better than he had expected. The guards were oblivious to their presence until it was too late. Their bodies fell to the floor with dull thuds and lifeless gurgles and it sent Altaïr's blood racing. That was what he was born to do. He was born to destroy the unjust things that stood in the was of his Brothers and Sisters from everlasting peace. Templar scum would perish.

He was both surprised and disappointed that he only got away with a wound on his bicep. A ricocheted bullet grazed it when a guard shot at them. He was upset that he got hurt and Malik would have to treat him, surprised because he was sure he had avoided it. Everyone makes mistakes, he told himself, rather than sulking over his poor calculations.

When all the guards were taken care of, the informer novices and Altaïr returned back to base. Al Mualim was there to greet them with a pleased smile. "I assume all went well?" he asked when they approached.

"The watchmen have all been eliminated," the female stated.

"Good," Al Mualim replied as he stroked his bristly beard. "Go, rest now. You both are full-fledged Informers, and you, Altaïr, ad now an Assassin. You will lead the attack on the Templar's in a matter of days."

"Thank you, Master." Altaïr bowed respectfully, the Informers mirroring his words and actions. With a wave of his had, their master dismissed them.

~.~

"Again with the injuries," Malik mumbled to himself as he worked on Altaïr's bullet wound. "Stop squirming!"

"What are you _doing_ to it?" he demanded, squirming despite of what he was told. "Are you probing it or something?"

"I am trying to disinfect it," Malik explained in an exasperated voice, "which is increasingly more difficult when you _keep moving_! Now, stop being a baby, Altaïr." Malik dabbed around and in the wound with a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant, sending throbbing pains shooting up his arms.

"It didn't hurt _nearly_ as much when I got the wound as it does _now_!" he complained like a child.

Malik sighed at his friend's comment. "Well, maybe that'll keep you from getting hurt so often…" his voice trailed off much quieter than he had wished it would, and he silently cursed himself. Malik hoped Altaïr hadn't noticed the change, but luck had never been on his side.

"Mal, I'm sorry," Altaïr apologized, his voice barely above a whisper. The use of the affection nickname Altaïr had given them as children made Malik believe that the words were from the younger man's heart. "I try to avoid injury so you don't have to see it, but sometimes it can't be avoided."

"Yes it can. Just stop doing whatever it is that causes such things!"

"It's not that easy, Malik…"

"Why not?"

"Because I _need_ to do this!" Altaïr shouted, effectively silencing Malik - for a moment.

"I respect that Altaïr, but," Malik's voice was soft and calm; he wouldn't make eye contact with the injured man before him. "Are Kadar and I necessary sacrifices then? Do you not care what would happen to me -" he paused. "Us - if anything were to happen to you?"

Altaïr felt guilt well up inside of him when he look at the man before him. Their relationship had been very strange since they got into the fight on campus. He could barely remember what had caused it…

~.~

Altaïr brushed his lips against the girl's in front of him. For the past week, she had been trying to convince him that they were soul mates, that they were meant to be together; he didn't even know who she was. And for that whole week, Altaïr had been making threats so she would stop stalking him. He threatened to call the police, file for a restraining order (even considered asking Al Mualim if the creed could spare just this one innocent), but nothing seemed to work. If anything, hi treats only made her try even harder. And then he came up with a plan.

He pressed his palm hard against her back and slowly trailed it down until it rested on her hips. He squeezed them tightly, resulting in a pained breath from the girl. "I would leave me alone before you get hurt," he warned with a low growl into her ear. He squeezed her wrist hard enough that she let out a squeal of pain before she ripped it out of his grasp.

Altaïr pulled away from her, his gaze level and dangerous. She returned the gaze with frightened eyes before she sulked down the hallway. Satisfied that she would bother him no longer, he turned to leave only to meet the gaze of a pissed-off Malik. He saw that…of course he'll misunderstand! Altaïr thought to himself.

"Malik," Altaïr called out cautiously.

"Who is _this_ girl?" Malik nodded in the direction that the stalker left in.

"Just… no one, Malik. There is no girl; I've done nothing to her!" he sounded oddly desperate, even to himself.

Malik's eyes narrowed. "It didn't look like nothing, what-with her hands _all over _her!"

"No, Mal, you misunderstand -" Altaïr was cut off as Malik shot him a deadly glare.

"You're such a man-whore, _Kafir_."

Altaïr felt his resolve - and guilt - shatter into pieces. He swung his fist around and it impacted into the side of Malik's face. Before he knew it, Malik had tackled him to the ground. A professor had to pull them apart and, as punishment for violence on school grounds, they had to help the janitors clean up after school for two weeks.

After that, they argued about the situation and Altaïr was eventually able to shut Malik up long enough to explain. He knew Malik understood his logic, but he was reluctant to admit it. But Altaïr knew that his friend's bitterness was forced after the explanation.

~.~

Altaïr looked at Malik and something clicked in his mind. He watched as the small brunette finished with the bandages on his arm, finally understanding. All the scornful things that he'd ever said to Altaïr - especially after sleeping with random women - and all of the jealousy (now that he could name the emotion that he'd always seen in his friend's eyes) were caused by one thing.

"Malik."

Malik lifted his eyes from the perfectly bandaged wound and reluctantly met his friend's cloudy-grey gaze. Altaïr leaned foreword and gently pressed his lips against Malik's. said man tensed at the feeling, but relaxed quickly when he brought a timid hand to cup around the younger man's neck.

Their lips moved against each other, tasting, memorizing, and just enjoying the feeling. Altaïr tongue dashed out and teased Malik's bottom lips, begging to be let in. Malik complied, eager shooting out his own tongue to meet the guest. Tongues grazed over each other, exploring, feeling, relishing in all that was their partner. Hands ghosted over skin, stroking skin, ghosting across it, teasing the other.

The need for air soon became to great for them and they reluctantly pulled apart. Their breath, hot and thick with moisture, mixed together as their foreheads touched. Altaïr sighed and brought his hand up to stroke and cup Malik's cheek. "That is not my intention. Someday I will tell you, but not now, Malik. I do not make you worry; I've been extra careful lately so you don't have to see me like this," he motioned to his arm. "Nothing will ever happen to me because I have a reason to survive. And nothing will ever happen to me as long as I still have that reason to live for." He looked deeply into Malik's eyes, silently telling the man what that reason was.

Malik's breath caught in his throat and he felt his face heat up. He had never seen this side of his friend. "Altaïr…" Malik began but froze when he heard Kadar's door open.

Both men shared a panicked look before tearing away from each other as if they had touched fire. When Kadar entered the kitchen, Malik was packing up the kit rather quickly and Altaïr was playing with a salt shaker. Both men's faces were a bright shade of red.

Kadar snorted at how ridiculous they looked. "Am I interrupting something?" he joked. Malik glowered at his brother, signaling that he had, indeed, interrupted something. "Don't mind me, I just came for a soda!" he sing-songed. He grabbed a coke from the fridge and hurried off to his room.

When Kadar's door latched shut, Malik let out the uneven breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He looked over at Altaïr who had slumped down in his seat. He picked up the case and moved to put it away, but a strong hand held him in place. Altaïr pulled at him until they were facing each other.

"I have ever intention of making this work, Mal. Remember, nothing will ever happen to me when I have something to live for," Altaïr declared. Malik could see in those slate eyes that his words were true, and it touched his heart, but he could stop the embarrassing giggle that escaped his lips. "What?"

"It's nothing, just…" he paused to think of how to phrase his sentence. "I'm not used to hearing such cheesy sayings from you."

Altaïr scowled half-heartedly and moved to walk past the elder man. "Then I'll just keep them to myself."

Malik chuckled and pushed Altaïr back to his previous spot. "No, don't so that. I said I wasn't used to it, not that I didn't like it. There's nothing abut you that I don't like," he admitted as he wrapped his arms around the man and resting his head against his shoulder.

"Nothing?" Malik could hear him smirking.

"Well," he paused, "everything except that ego of your's and your thick head. But that's you and it would be strange if you didn't have either of those traits."

Altaïr pulled Malik's head up and captured his lips in a chaste kiss before he pulled his shirt over his head. While he was struggling with that (mainly trying to get his injured arm through his sleeve), Malik turned away - slightly embarrassed - and spoke.

"You missed class today. The professor wasn't happy," he stated. He was actually trying to change the subject, but of course Altaïr would choose to ignore his attempts.

Twisting Malik's words so that it was a metaphor, Altaïr smirked and replied, "Well now. I guess I'll have to be a good student from now on so I don't upset my _brilliant_ professor."

Malik blushed slightly at the compliment. "I'm not brilliant and I wasn't talking about me," he mumbled. May God strike me down if I continue acting like a love-struck teenager around him! Malik's silent declare rang through his head as he placed the medical kit back in the cabnit. He didn't even hear Altaïr sneak up behind him until it was too late.

Strong arms wrapped tightly around Malik's waist and hot breath ghosted across his left ear. "I know," Altaïr purred, "but I've always wondered what it would be like…" He let the thought hang in the air for Malik's brain to think about. When he got no reply, he swiped out his tongue and licked Malik's ear. He could almost hear all the gears click into place as the older man finally understood Altaïr's suggestion.

Malik tore away from him - his face a bright shade of red - and he scurried off to his room. He knew Altaïr was just doing that to get riled up, but he wasn't about to give into the younger man. Thought he knew the Malik wanted it and Malik knew that Malik wanted it, his stubborn pride would not let him give in. even with all of Altaïr's declarations, he couldn't forget about all the man's conquests that thought "they had something special" and Malik would _not_ be like them.

As he stormed off to his room he could swear he heard an amused chuckle coming from the kitchen…

~.~

It was hard on Malik to see Altaïr go now that they were both on the same page. Now that he knew what it was like to hold and be held by the man, he couldn't really imagine how he could go back to not having it. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since their first kiss and already his heart ached painfully when Altaïr walked out the door. Everything had changed but at least one thing stayed the same, much to Malik's relief. Altaïr walked out the door wearing that same white sweatshirt and shot him the same "when I come back and if I'm injured, go easy on me, please?" smile, and Malik smiled right back, waving.

Malik sighed, his heart aching more than it usually did when Altaïr left for whatever it was that he did. He turned and walked into the living room and sat down next to his brother. Kadar watched him carefully, ceasing to eat his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and ignoring the childish cartoon that played on the TV.

After a while, Malik shot a glare at his brother. "What is it?" he asked.

Kadar was silent for a moment before answering, "Do you wanna go get pizza?"

Malik ignored the fact that Kadar had food on his lap and nodded in agreement. Perhaps that is what he needed to get Altaïr off his mind.

~.~

Kadar sucked in a long strand of melted cheese with an odd look of concentration on his face. Malik could help but to laugh at his baby brother. The younger sent the older a questioning look but it was waved off.

"So you and Altaïr have been acting strange lately. Why is that?" Kadar asked as he sipped idly at his soda.

Malik narrowed his eyes at his brother. "What do you mean?" he shot back.

"Well, the two of you have been awfully friendly since last night. Not to mention I know I _did_ walk in on something, I just don't know what that is. It's your job to tell me." Kadar thanked their waitress when she refilled his drink.

"And why should I tell you?"

"Because I'm the baby of the family and you love me?" Kadar shot him the "puppy eyes" look that he had been using since their childhood, a look that he knew Malik was a sucker for.

Malik looked at his brother, his resolve strong at first, but when it started to waver he looked away. Kadar, knowing he was winning, continued pestering the elder until he cracked. He glowered half-heartedly at his baby brother and said, "If I tell you, will you drop the subject?" Kadar nodded enthusiastically. "Altaïr kissed me."

Kadar's eyes widened and his mouth morphed into the shape of an "o". once he recovered from the initial shock, he took another bite of his pizza. "Is that what you wanted?" he asked.

Malik crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Maybe…" he mumbled.

"It does not sound like you are to sure, Brother."

Malik looked his brother square in the eye, sat up straight, and declared, "I love Altaïr. More than you can imagine."

"Really?" his younger brother grinned. "'cause it looks like the two of you want to kill each other half the time."

"He and I fight and it's usually about his safety; or his random conquests. We may call each other horrible things, but they are just words. I never mean half of the stuff that I call him."

Kadar smiled and he was proud to call Malik his elder brother. The man's values were pure, even though his tongue was sharp and poisonous half of the time. And Kadar knew his brother's words were true because he knew all along. He was just happy that Malik was finally going to allow himself to be happy for once.

"Do you think Altaïr feels the same?" he asked after he finished of the last of his food, but he didn't miss the soft blush that crept across his brother's cheeks.

"Uh…" he began, looking away to attempt at hiding his embarrassment. He cleared his throat and continued, "yes, I'd say so."

"That's great! I'm happy for the two of you! So, are you guys a couple, or what?"

Malik rolled his eyes. "I would believe so. It was only last night, Kadar."

Kadar laughed and joked as the waitress came to give them their bill. She thanked them for their visit, wished them a good night like any other waitress would, but she shot Malik a bitter smile before she walked away. She must be a homophobe, Malik thought to himself, a small frown settling upon his lips. He had hoped people would be over their descrimitive ways by then, but apparently not.

The two brothers paid for their meals and left. As they walked they fell into a comfortable conversation. It was late and the sun had set a while ago. Not only was it dark but it was also cold. They turned down an alley to take a short cut and both their senses kicked in.

Kadar laughed nervously and subconsciously moved closer to his brother. "A little spooky, huh?" he asked just to keep them talking.

"Yeah," Malik replied absentmindedly as he watched their surroundings suspiciously.

Suddenly, the screeching of tire through rang through the air, bringing the brothers to a stop. They spun around quickly to see what was coming at them, but it was too late. A black van's sliding door opened and two men grabbed Malik. Kadar tried to pull his brother away from them but he just ended up getting pulled into the vehicle as well. The door swished shut behind them and then it was gone with out a trace that any of them had been there.

~.~

Something was wrong. Upon the delivery of the artifact that Al Mualim wanted, security was supposed to be intense; that's why they had to take out the regular night guards the day before. If they took out the regulars, they would be replaced by less experienced guards and it would make the job of taking on them and the guards to protect the treasure, a whole lot easier. And yet, there were no guards. The lack of red in his Eagle Vision unnerved him and his small squad of trainees, but they carried on.

"The Piece of Eden should be in this room," said the blond novice who held up the map.

The squad turned into the room warily, looking for guards in any nook or cranny, while Altaïr sauntered straight up to the display case. Though he had expected it by that point, he was mildly surprised to see that their target was not there. Instead, Altaïr pulled out a note. It read:

Dear Altaïr Ibn La-Ahad,

This is revenge for killing my men. Not only will your master never get his precious Piece of Eden, but you will lose the one thing you care about most.

Sincerely, your friend,

Robert De Sablé

Altaïr felt his blood grow cold. How could this man know of him? He knew of Robert De Sablé - all of the assassin's knew the name of the leader of their enemies - but Altaïr was not the most popular person among his Brothers and Sisters. So, how could he possibly know of him?

That was hardly what scared him the most, though. The letter said the he would lose the one thing he cared for most and that was Malik. But, no one knew of their relationship except for him and the brunette, and not even Al Mualim.

How could this be happening to him?

"Malik," Altaïr whispered so softly that none of the novice assassins gathered around him could hear his quiet plea.

He was so shaken about what was happening that he almost didn't notice the second sheet of paper behind the first. When it fluttered to the floor, he bent down to pick it up. It had only one sentence - an address - a challenge for him to come and face De Sablé. He led his squad out of the building and into the van and car used to get there. He plugged the address into the GPS and they took off in a matter of seconds. He had to settle this.

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**Well, another chapter done and over with! So, how's this one with the length and grammar? Give me pointers, please~! ;D**

**Kafir - basically translates to "non-muslim" or basically, "infidel" I learned it from the book, **An Abundance of Katherines**by John Green! XD great book. O w O**

**Read and Review, pretty please? XD**


	3. Chapter 3

**Doo doo doo~! Sorry about the cliffhanger in the last chapter! That's just how I wrote it. ^^; **

**And PLEASE don't cry about Kadar…it depresses me enough already… ;_____; *cries in corner***

**Seriously though? What's with bad guys and warehouses? D:**

**Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed © Ubisoft**

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**Chapter 3**

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He would be a fool to say he wasn't scared; he was terrified. He could care less about his own safety, but now that Kadar was involved, he wanted nothing more than to get his baby brother out and somewhere safe. What have I been dragged into? What have I done? Malik asked himself as he glanced around at his surroundings.

He and Kadar were placed in the middle of a small, dimly lit warehouse, tied to chairs. The brutes that kidnapped them were no where to be found but they could hear their voices coming from a room located across the building. Malik had mentally deemed it the "guards room". the room they were tied up in was empty other than them and a wooden table. Atop of the table sat a beautiful, golden statue that shimmered at the cheap florescent light sway above them. Malik could help but be drawn to the statue, as if it held some amazing force that was just waiting to be released…

Kadar's sneeze brought Malik back to reality. The noise bounced of the walls of the quiet building and both men held their breath, waiting for the guards to come out; they never did.

The brothers relaxed and exchanged frightened looks. "What's going on?" Kadar asked nervously.

Malik shook his head. "I don't know."

They sat in silence for a while, both thinking about what could have gotten them into such a mess, but they couldn't think of a valid reason. Suddenly, the door opened and in walked a skinny brunette woman. In any other situation, time, and place, Malik would have to admit to himself that she was beautiful. But, it was not anything other than what it was and the steady glare she sent Malik turned him off completely. She was the descrimitive waitress from the pizza restaurant.

She looked at them, glanced around the room, then returned from where she came. She must have been sent to investigate a noise they had heard. Malik and Kadar shared a puzzled look before a thundering blast echoed through the still air. The door to the guard's room burst open, debris and a strong wind flying through it. Gun shots, the muffled gurgles of bodies that fell to the floor, and a low grunt echoed off the walls.

The outside door opened and in walked a group of four people wearing the same grey sweatshirts Altaïr used to wear, pointing guns in every direction as they entered. One spotted the statue and gasp, pointing at it for the others to notice as well. While three of the members of the group hovered around the golden object, the fourth - a blond boy with a map sticking out of his pocket - hurried over to untie Malik and Kadar.

Malik was freed first and he stood up, rubbing his sore wrists, and a body went flying through the air. The body crashed into a leg of the wooden table, making the heavy thing screech as it was forced backwards. It fell the the floor with a heavy thump and the group around the table scattered from the sudden movement.

A tall man - bald, well-built, and had a dangerous glint in his eyes - exited the guard's room and held a gun pointed to the body on the floor. "Didn't your master tell you never to bring a sword to a gun fight?" the man asked in an icy voice.

"Don't talk down to me," the body growled as it struggled to stand upright again.

Something clicked in Malik's mind when he heard the voice; he recognized that angry growl. "Altaïr," Malik breath in shock before he glanced at Kadar. The brother's shared a look, silently confirming their beliefs and the group of stranger just looked at Malik in confusion and shock.

Altaïr pushed himself upright and shot Malik a look that on he could read. Only he could see the amount of pain and regret in his childhood friend's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Mal," he began, his voice quiet but still loud in the empty room. "I didn't mean to get you two involved in this."

"Altaïr," he repeated, unable to think of anything else to say before a bullet whizzed past him, barely missing his head.

Anger flared up from within Altaïr and he pulled out his gun. He fired shot after shot, but they all seemed to miss his target. Finally, his gun gave off a disappointing click and he was forced to pull out his hidden blade. He charged at the bald man with all his might as he prepared to attack, but he was startled to a stop when two shots rang through the air. A muffled thump followed, then another shot was fired.

Malik cried out in pain and Altaïr spun around to see him. Before he could move a step toward the brunette man, a hand connected to the base of his skull, making his world go black. "Malik…" he wheezed through chapped lips and a dry throat. He tried to lift his head to check on the only only family he had left, but it was of no use. He vaguely felt people lifting him from the ground in his semi-conscious state, but he didn't need to be conscious to hear Malik's agonizing cry of pain.

~.~

Malik watched in horror as Altaïr's eyes dimmed and he fell to the floor. Could he be dead? Malik asked himself in horror. He struggle from his position on the floor to look over at his brother. What he saw made his heart shatter. The searing pain in his left arm was nothing compared to the pain that shot through him when he look at Kadar. His head hung low, his once shimmering blue eyes where a glazed-over grey, and blood streaked down his face to stain his clothing. The blond boy who had been freeing him lay dead on the floor, his clothing soaking up his own blood.

Shot were fired through the air, forcing the bald-man to retreat back into the guards room, but Malik barely heard any of it. Everything moved in slow motion as he watched two hooded figures hoist Altaïr off the floor while the third fired shots at the man's hiding spot.

Malik pushed himself up and tipped the table over to provide cover from the bullets. He caught Altaïr's unfocussed gaze as he passed, but he felt a sudden nausea roll over him. The grey figures where supposed to rescue them also right?

In their hurry to get Altaïr to safety, Malik noticed that they had forgotten the statue. Something I the back of his mind told him to grab it, that it was important, but he didn't get the chance. Another shot pierced the air and penetrated Malik's left arm and successfully shattering the bone. He left out an agonizing cry of pain as the world flashed white a few times before he focused back in on reality. It was hardly the time to pass out.

Malik looked up to see the bald-man exiting the room, aiming the firearm and Malik as he walked. Feeling that death would be soon upon him, Malik silently prayed for forgiveness. The he though of Kadar and Altaïr and how that man, the Reaper himself, had hurt the only family he had left. He would not submit to that.

"Malik Al-Sayf," the man greeted with a dangerous smile. "Looks like your lover couldn't save you."

Malik gritted his teeth. "You basterd!" he cursed.

"Aren't you curious as to who I am?" the man asked in mock playfulness.

"I don't need a name to damn you to hell!" Malik spat venomously.

"My name is Robert de Sablé," he introduced, ignoring Malik's comment. "Do you know why Altaïr showed up here? Do you think it was to save you?"

Malik glared at the man and refused to answer. Truth was that he really didn't know. At that point the had realized that he had gotten himself sucked into Altaïr's world, but he didn't know what it was.

De Sablé chuckled. "He came for that item right there, the Piece of Eden his master wants so much.

"He came because his master commanded him to. Altaïr is a whipped dog who only obeys his Alpha. He may love you, but you will always come second."

"You don't know him. Stop talking as if you do!" Malik commanded.

"what does it feel like to be nothing more than that dog's favorite _chew toy_?"

"Stop it!"

Shots were fired again, catching de Sablé by surprise. Most of the bullets missed him, but a few landed on their target. The third grey-hooded man came running back in. he had returned to rescue him! Malik grabbed the Piece of Eden from where it laid on the floor from when he knocked the table over, and he raced out after the hooded figure.

When they were safe inside the car, Malik allowed himself to think. Kadar was dead, he couldn't feel or move his left arm, and de Sablé's words were still fresh on his mind, sounding more and more like the truth with each passing second.

~.~

"How does he know me? Hoe does he know so much _about_ me?" Altaïr demanded. He had heard that Malik was safely inside the hospital wing, but that did nothing to calm his nerves. If anything, it made him angrier than he already was! Malik shouldn't need to be in there. He and Kadar should have been at home, watching tv and writing term papers.

"You are my best student, Altaïr, the center of my attention. De Sablé knew that and he must have researched you. It would explain as to how he knew that the Al-Sayfs were your only family left." Al Mualim stroked his beard like he always did when he was deep in thought.

Altaïr was silent for a moment. "But, why me?" he asked.

"Because you're a threat to him, and he knows it."

Altaïr accepted his response and asked, "What position will you give Malik?"

Al Mualim was quiet for a moment before he answered. "He will be trained to be a Dai of another city's beau rue. It's too dangerous for either of you to leave the safety of the Assassins now; de Sablé will find and kill you both."

"Then why not just keep him here?" Being told that Malik would be sent away was not something that he wanted hear at that moment.

"Because he will only distract you," the master replied, giving Altaïr a knowing look. Altaïr's response was a frustrated sigh. Again with the liability stuff, Altaïr thought bitterly to himself.

"I _am_ going to have to punish you somehow for nearly jeopardizing the mission…" the master trailed off as he thought. He was quiet for a while as he stroked his beard. "You will be demoted to Novice rank. You will continue to go on assassination missions, but the informers will not help you. You will have to handle the job of two ranks."

Altaïr felt his heart drop. After he worked so hard to gain his title of Assassin, he was being demoted. Though he was upset about his loss in rank, he couldn't bring himself to care too much. At the moment, the only thing he longed for was Malik's forgiveness.

* * *

**Sorry if it's kinda short. That's just how I wrote it originally. =/ *is typing this up from a handwritten copy***

**Anyways, read and review~! ;D**


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, here's chapter 4! Sorry it took so long guys, but life got in the way, ya know? these chapter would be updated so much faster if I didn't already have them written on paper. **

**That totally slows people down! FO SHO. *face desk 'cause she procrastinates and there's no excuse for that* Anyways, don't hate me and try to give me some love as motivation to update again by the end of the week??**

**BY THE WAY! Smut in two chapter. = w =**

**Disclaimer:**** Assassin's Creed © Ubisoft**

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**Chapter 4**

* * *

Everything on him hurt. It was a dull, aching pain that made him feel like he was truly empty. The pain began to intensify as the drugs wore off, but he didn't tell anyone. The pain he was feeling was nothing compared to the aching on his heart. Kadar was dead and there was nothing he could have done to save him. It was all Altaïr's fault for not listening to him! If he had stopped with his foolishness like he asked him to, Kadar would still be alive! Malik would have his arm still and they would live peaceful lives while they finished school.

But he didn't listen; he ignored Malik's warnings and now _he_ was suffering the consequences. Altaïr's foolishness had destroyed his life.

De Sablé's words echoed through his mind, fueling his anger. Yes, he would always come in second to Altaïr's beloved _Master_. It didn't matter what happened to Malik as long as the _Master_ was happy! And now that Malik had seen the man, he couldn't help but laugh bitterly to himself. Altaïr's blind loyalty made Malik believe that the clan leader was some amazing person, but no. The man was a pathetic sight to see. How he could command an army of blood-thirsty assassins, he would never know.

Malik sighed, trying to ease up some of the tension he'd built up in his chest. Altaïr's actions felt like betrayal to what they had - what was no longer - and it felt like his heart was breaking to pieces.

A nurse came in and added more medicine to the IV drip that was attached to his arm. She smiled softly at him before leaving the room again. Malik scowled as his pain, his only distraction from his troubles, began to disappear. With the pain from his arm gone, he was left with the pain of his bitter thoughts.

He didn't get a chance too, though, as a soft knock at his door broke into his thoughts. The door opened cautiously and Malik's heart sped up when he saw Altaïr look at him. The latch clicked closed behind him as the door shut, and grey eyes hesitantly met brown. Malik's breath hitched when he saw they amount of sorrow, guilt, and conflict that swirled within his eyes. He felt his anger slowly dissipate when he looked at him because even he knew his anger was wrongly place; at least most of it was. No, no!

You must stay angry at him! It's all _his_ fault! Remember Kadar and you arm! He doesn't love you, Malik told himself, and it worked. His anger flared back to life.

Altaïr looked deep into Malik's eyes and saw hurt and betrayal. He blames me, Altaïr sighed sadly, and he realized that he was right. It was his fault. How could he convince him that it was not his intention for that to happen? That he wanted to avoid it at all costs? Malik would have never listened to him, especially in such a state that he was in.

"What do you want, Altaïr?" Malik snapped suddenly.

Malik's outburst startled him back to reality and he gaped at his friend. "You know exactly why I'm here, Mal. You're hurt and it's because of me-!" He was cut off by another outburst from Malik.

"Yes, it _is_ your fault!" Malik hissed. "I've lost everything because of you! Because you did not head my warnings!"

"What was I to do? I didn't know de Sablé had targeted me until it was too late. Even if I did stay like you asked me to, nothing would have changed! De Sablé would wait until you were alone and then he'd kill you."

"Anything is better than this! It'd rather be dead than having to live without my brother because of your mistake!"

Altaïr's heart ached from his friend's words, but it also made his blood boil. Who was he to judge him? Malik had no idea of his true intentions yet he was so quick to assume them. Altaïr already knew everything was his fault, and Malik had every right to be angry. He didn't have the right to imply things he had no proof of just because he was angry.

"Really? That is how you feel? You'd rather be dead than alive just because of one mistake that you assume was _my_ fault?" It unnerved Malik how calm Altaïr's voice had gotten. "You don't even know what that mistake was do you?"

Malik was about to say that it didn't matter what it was because the deed was already done, but he held his tongue.

"Just as I thought. You'd rather sit there, blaming everything on me, than to live with the truth.

"You're always so quick to assumes things, Malik; you always were. If you wish to die so badly, go on ahead. I will not stop you since your survival would just be another _mistake_ on my behalf," he spat bitterly at his friend.

Malik looked away as Altaïr turned to leave. He knew the assassin's words were true, he just didn't want to admit it. He so wanted to just continue on blaming him for all his troubles; it was so easy. But, Altaïr's words were true and it was killing him inside - killing him because he wanted to continue on wrongfully accusing the one person he love most.

"Malik, by the way," Altaïr called out with his hand on the door knob. "None of this would have happened if I acted on my feelings for you. That was my mistake, allowing you to know just how much I love you."

With his final words spoken, Altaïr left the room. He left, leaving Malik to suffer alone with the knowledge that it was his own fault as well.

~.~

Altaïr was eating breakfast (or at least trying to) when he received the news. The authorities had found Kadar's body, along with the other casualties at the warehouse. They also declared that Malik was missing, most likely kidnapped during the "feud between two feuding terrorist groups".

They're not far off, Altaïr thought bitterly to himself as he stabbed his food with a fork. Malik had been discharged from the assassin's personal hospital wing (it had been about a month since the incident) and had been training as a Dai for almost a week. Soon, he would be sent to another city to oversee the work done there.

A young man sat across from Altaïr, no more than eighteen or nineteen. He was the one who went back to save Malik from de Sablé. Altaïr felt the overwhelming urge to thank the boy for what he did, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Malik was still a sore subject for him. Instead, he watched the boy calmly as he waited for him to speak.

"Master Altaïr," the boy began, "I have noticed that you and your friend have not talked in a while. They've been trying to teach him to protect himself, but the members they have chosen are no match for him - he hardly has to try. The instructor asked me to fetch you, our best fighter, so that you may help teach him."

Altaïr sighed. "Malik would just spit and refuse to work with me. He wont forgive me for what I have done."

The boy smiled. "Are you sure?"

"What do you mean?" questioned Altaïr.

"You see, many of us have mentioned you and never has his expression betrayed him other than subtle hints of sadness. Perhaps he is not as angry with you as you think?"

Altaïr kept his eyes on the boy, watching him suspiciously. His hair was long and messy, like the style that so many teens had, and his eyes were a bright, sparkling blue. Altaïr instantly thought of Kadar when he looked into them. So bright and full of life…

"What is you name?" Altaïr asked, trying to ignore the painful clenching of his heart.

"Peter," the boy replied, and that was all he said.

Altaïr nodded and stood up. Perhaps Peter had a point. After a month, Malik must have been ready to talk to him.

~.~

Peter had been wrong, so very wrong. What have I gotten myself into? Altaïr asked himself as he spit out blood. Malik didn't speak to him when he entered the room. instead, he got a steady glare and a punch to the face. When he looked at Malik he saw a hint of regret, but it was brief - gone as soon as it appeared.

"You've got a lot of nerve, showing your face to me," Malik growled.

Altaïr glared back at him, rubbing his aching jaw. For only having one arm, Malik could throw a punch. "Don't get you panties in a wad, Malik. I'm here to train you."

"I don't need your help. I was doing just fine without you," he hissed venomously.

So, this is it, huh? We've gone from finally understanding each other and back to bitter rivals? Fine. If that what he wants, so be it, Altaïr declared.

"Really? You plan on passing the test while fighting a bunch of novices who's skills aren't half of your own?" Altaïr walked up to him, invading his personal space. "You've grown up fighting _me_, the best fighter here. Your skills match my own. It would only make sense for us to train together.

"But, think of it this way, Mal. If you manage to defeat me with only one hand, you'd probably be allowed to leave sooner. Then, you'd only have to put up with me on the rare occasion that I have an assassination mission in your area. So, what do you say?"

Malik's jaw clenched in anger when he saw the arrogant smirk cross Altaïr's face. Altaïr was trying to provoke him using actions _and_ reasons? When did he get so damn cunning? "Fine, but don't go crying to your master with your tail between your legs when I beat you!" Malik declared confidently.

But, Malik wasn't stupid. He knew it would take more than confidence to defeat Altaïr's ego.

~.~

They trained for weeks and it seemed to be doing more harm than good. The two would have to be pulled apart from each other - bloodied and bruised - before a victor would be decided. Whenever there was a winner, it was always Altaïr who found an opening and managed to pin Malik to the ground.

Malik did remember one fight perfectly, though. Right before they were pulled apart, Malik landed a powerful right-hook to Altaïr's face, breaking his nose in the process. He the remembered the pride he felt when Altaïr, cupping his bleeding nose with his hands, looked at Malik in shock. He also remember the shame he felt afterwards when he realized that he had hurt him.

Malik sighed in frustration. Why'd he have to feel so torn about the whole situation? Why were his feelings so bipolar? He only needed one, love or hate. Either would do since he was sick of riding the emotional rollercoaster that he was on.

Why'd it have to be Altaïr that he was so confused about?

Malik's silent musing came to an end when he entered the arena. Today's the day, he promised himself. I _will_ beat him!

Altaïr spotted Malik right away and he sighed. Malik was glaring at him again. Hold on, he paused. There was something different about the way Malik glared at him. The glare was one of confidence rather than one of accusation.

"Are you ready for this?" Malik asked - a challenge - as he entered the fighting ring.

"Whenever you are," Altaïr replied with a nonchalant shrug.

Malik was the first to strike. He charged forwards, ducked when Altaïr took a swing at him, and elbowed him in the rub cage.

Altaïr stumbled back, shocked, but was still able to block the right-hook that Malik threw at him. He had experienced it's power before, and he had no intention to ever feel it again. Altaïr landed a swift blow to Malik's stomach, then jumped back to get some distance. He and Malik had been fighting for weeks, so he needed to try a new strategy.

Malik coughed and glared at Altaïr. He noticed how the determination seemed to Malik the brunette's eyes glow and Altaïr liked the change. It was much better than the usual dark, cloudy eyes that held nothing but anger, sadness, and accusations.

Malik charged again, but feigned a punch to the face. With all of Altaïr's attention focused on protecting his face, Malik was able to easily land a kick to his side. Altaïr stumbled, desperately trying to regain his balance, but Malik took advantage of his state. He kicked his legs out from under him and pounced when Altaïr hit the ground. Malik had him pinned and helpless in a matter of seconds.

Malik leaned down and whispered into Altaïr's ear, "I win."

Malik's hot breath ghosted across his skin, making him shudder. Asshole, Altaïr mentally cursed, his pout only noticeable to Malik. Malik released his hold on Altaïr and stood up as the instructor walked over. "Very good Malik," he congratulated with a pleased smile. "I'll alert Al Mualim that you are ready."

Malik thanked his instructor. He glared once down at Altaïr, then left, not even gracing the assassin with a second glace.

~.~

Malik stood before Al Mualim, awaiting his assignment. He was grateful to the man for allowing him to join - though it was a bit of a bribe - but he did not like him. He never would. If de Sablé's words were true, why would he like his rival - the one person that was more important to Altaïr than Malik was?

Wait, why am I still thinking like this? Why do I care who Altaïr cares about? I hate him; I want nothing to do with him. He can go marry a random whore for all I care! Malik felt jealously rise from within him at the last thought. Dammit, he cursed his feelings bitterly.

Al Mualim, who had been stroking his beard while looking out the window at the ocean, turned to his desk and opened a hand drawn map. It had many markings on it that Malik had never seen before.

"Where we are now is what we call the Masyaf branch. It's the Assassin Clan Headquarters, if you will. We have many other branches as well: Damascus, Acre, and a few others." He paused to gather his thoughts. "Do you enjoy drawing maps? Altaïr once told me that you were majoring in geography back in college."

Malik nodded. "Yes, I was. I enjoy marking landscapes."

The master nodded, obviously pleased with how things turned out. "Perfect. You are assigned to the Jerusalem Branch. There, you will be drawing maps like this on here."

Malik looked down at the map, studying the key and foreign markings. There were unique markings for assassination targets, high towers for looking over the city, weak points in Templar territory, and many others. So this is what an assassin's map looks like, Malik mused to himself. He really did enjoy making maps, he didn't just make it up to spare the master's feelings. Like he cared for them.

"There will be plenty of maps for you study at the branch. There are novices and informants assigned to your area as well and they will get you the information you need. you also have some studying to do. The Templars have quieted down for the time being, so now is perfect for you to learn about our clan's history. I expect you to memorize the rankings, the uniforms, the braches - everything. You are now our Brother, Malik Al-Sayf."

"Thank you for this opportunity," Malik replied with a small bow.

He left the office without a second word and headed to his room. He packed his clothing and belongings before heading out to the garage. On his way, he noticed Altaïr walking in front of him in the opposite direction. Brown eyes met cloudy-grey and he swore he never saw Altaïr look at him with such remorse and sorrow.

* * *

**And there's the end of chapter 4~!**

**Yes, Peter is technically an OC, but I just kind pulled him out of my butt as I was writing this. He's basically a random person that gives Altaïr and Malik a push in the right direction every now and then. he's not really all too important. ^^;**

**Give lotsa Love with comment so I get the inspiration to update again by Friday~! 3**

**By the way, how was my grammar in this chapter??**


	5. Chapter 5

**So…yeah. I have no excuse other than I severely procrastinated. _ sorry guys. ^^;**

**So, many of you may be disappointed by how I portray Altaïr as automatically all….sad and stuff(lack of vocabulary at the moment), but yeah. Maybe I'm just being paranoid and NONE of you think it's weird, but I'm just telling you that I did it on purpose. I think Altaïr was regretful from the beginning but Malik's crabbiness made him angry. BT**

**BTW, I read a fic where Adha was Altaïr's sister, so I added that in here. ;D sorry if it bugs you! (I know it's not true people, I just like it.)**

**Disclaimer:**** Assassin's Creed © Ubiso- you know what? It's MINE. NOTHING IS TRUE; EVERYTHING IS PERMITTED, so ubisoft can't hog all the rights. D: lolz jk**

**Chapter 5**

Malik sighed, scrubbing his face with his one remaining hand. He was exhausted; he had no idea what he was getting himself into when he agreed to study the organization. Everything was complicated from assassination techniques and weapons, even to the ranks of the members! He had been awake for over twenty-four while he simultaneously switched between studying the maps and then studying the order. His mind and body were completely exhausted.

Novice assassins wore a grey sweat shirt, while Masters wore the white; novice Informers wore brown as the Master Informants wore tan; the Dai and Rafiqs, as they called them, wore black. Al Mualim, the Master of the Order, wore elegant black robes, clothing very different from his subordinates.

Malik sighed and laid his head down upon his desk. His mind was buzzing with thoughts and facts; it felt like a hive of bees were swarming within it. He was tired and emotionally drained. He was angry at Altaïr for what he did, but he still loved him (and that made him angry at himself), and he never mourned his brother's death…

He sat up and looked about the room. Bookshelves lined most of the wall to his right, only breaking to frame the doorway to the roof entrance. His desk was in the center of the room, but closer to the back. There was another off to his left, but it was covered in maps and other assortments of papers. He was even pleased to find that he had a balcony off his office.

A loud thump from the entrance room caught Malik's to attention. The figure wore the startling white robes of a Master assassin, but something was different about it. A red strip framed the zipper on both sides, a frame so red that it looked like blood. Only when the figure removed his hood did Malik recognize him.

"Altaïr," Malik greeted in a dull, bored tone of voice. It surprised him that all he felt towards Altaïr at that moment was annoyance. "What can I do for you?"

Altaïr shifted his weight and looked around the room. "I just came to see how you were doing," Altaïr admitted.

"Yes, well, as you can see, I am doing fine."

Altaïr nodded and looked around again. To Malik, it looked like he was uneasy, agitated. Finally, their eyes met for the first time since his arrival; he looked nervous. "Malik, I -"

"Altaïr," Malik warned in a stern voice, "Hold your tongue - I don't want to hear it."

"How are you feeling?" Altaïr asked in order to change the subject.

Malik quirked an eyebrow at him. "I'm fine. Now, is there anything else you need, or can I get back to work?"

"No, I don't need anything. I would like to help out in some way, though. Master Al Mualim said I must 'learn the trade of an informer' as part of my punishment," Altaïr explained.

"Is that why you have that red strip? The books never mentioned that as part of a uniform."

"That is because Al Mualim made it up. I am acting as a novice and a full-fledged assassin now, a rank that has never been given out."

Malik nodded and leaned back into his seat, considering Altaïr's words. He could use some people gathering information for him… "Very well. Go investigate the town. Anything that I need to make an assassin's map is to be marked on a regular map and then returned to me. Return here when you are done."

Altaïr nodded and left quickly. Malik watched him jump from roof to roof in the busy city and, to Malik, he no longer looked like a whipped dog. Altaïr was a soaring eagle that could not be caged.

~.~

Altaïr came to visit him often and yet, not enough. He hadn't been assigned an assassination yet, but he made do with grunt work, and Malik knew Altaïr was purposefully coming to the "Jerusalem" bureau just to see how he was doing. Malik couldn't bring himself to be furious with the man, only slightly annoyed.

Altaïr had always been protective of him and Kadar as kids, but it was never as bad as when Altaïr would stop by his bureau. Every time Malik moved he could feel Altaïr's watchful gaze upon him; it was like he expected the brunette to break into pieces. Malik knew he could only take so much babying before he snapped. And yet, he knew his resolve was wavering in the way he often thought of the past, when they were young boys.

But, he could not allow Altaïr know that he was growing soft. Whenever Altaïr came to gather data for him, Malik would send a cold glare Altaïr's way and the fool bought it every time. He knew his misplaced grudge against Altaïr was gone, but his raw hatred for Robert De Sablé was still there. He picture De Sablé in his head to make his hatred seem believable, but his eyes grew soft when the other's back was turned.

When Altaïr wasn't there, Malik often found himself wishing they good go back to simpler times…

~.~

It was dark and gloomy when Malik and Kadar were returning home from school. The clouds threatened to drop rain upon their uncovered heads, but the young boys of eight and five made it home just in time. The boys grabbed their boots and raincoats, running outside into the pouring rain.

They ran through the streets and alleys of their neighborhood, laughing as they threw mud at each other and looked for imaginary treasure. When Kadar grew tired, he returned home and left Malik to continue playing by his self. He was walking through an alley way, dragging his stick across the fence next to him, when he saw him. A boy of seven years was sitting there, soaking wet, and petting a stray cat. His eyes were cloudy, as if he was reliving a distant memory as he stroked the friendly feline.

Malik didn't know what it was, but he felt drawn to the boy. He approached him and knelt down to pet the cat also. The grey-eyed boy jumped and looked at Malik quizzically. Malik just smiled and asked, "You like the cat?" He received a small nod in reply. "She's been living in this alley for years. I'm surprised she hasn't found a home yet."

The boy looked down at the cat and scratched under her chin. "She's a stray and she always will be."

Malik knew he wasn't talking just about the cat, but he was too young to understand completely. "What's your name?" Malik asked.

The boy eyed him suspiciously before replying, "Altaïr."

Malik smiled. "Nice to meet you, Altaïr. I'm Malik."

The two boys sat there and talked (well, Malik talked mostly and Altaïr listened) and before either of them knew it, they had made plans to meet there the next day. When the following day arrived, they made plans to meet again, and again, and again until it was several months after they had first met. Altaïr and Malik would play together every day and bask in the happiness that they brought each other.

But, happiness doesn't last forever, and it ended for Malik when he met Altaïr's sister, Adha. "Who's this?" She asked, her voice low and demanding.

Altaïr sent a worried glance to Malik, then looked at his sister. "He's my friend," was all he said.

Adha's slate eyes hardened and she grabbed Altaïr by his wrist. "No. Remember what I told you: 'we can only trust each other.'"

"But -!"

"No buts," she cut him off, "Say goodbye to him, Altaïr."

"Bye Mal," Altaïr mumbled to his friend, his eyes wet with tears.

Malik felt his heart sink. His mind couldn't compute the situation, but his heart knew that was the last time he would hear him. He reached out for his friend's hand, but Altaïr had already turned to leave with his sister.

Malik ran home, tears clouding his vision, and explained everything to his parents. They had met Altaïr many times before and his mother had a certain fondness for the shy boy. They didn't know how to calm their son's sobs, so they had him lead them to Altaïr's house.

Adha answered the door when they arrived, looking bitterly down at Malik. "What can I do for you?" she asked venomously.

"Are you parents home?" Malik's mother asked with a pleasant smile on her face.

Adha looked taken aback for a moment, but she quickly composed herself. "They are not," she replied.

"Do you know when they'll return?" Malik's father asked just as pleasantly.

With frustration, Adha narrowed her eyes at them. "No I do not. I'll let them know that you stopped by."

She slammed the door in their faces before they could ask anything more. They returned home, but Malik didn't feel any better. His parents were uncharacteristically quiet on their way home, like they were deeps in concentration. Malik found out only a few days later when they returned.

Adha answered the door again when they arrived. She went from looking angry to terrified when she saw the woman Malik's parents had brought with them. "Adha Ibn-La'Ahad, where are your parents?" The woman asked in an even tone.

With fear, Adha took a step back before replying, "Th-they're at work!"

"Their employers said they hadn't been to work in weeks. Where are they _really_?" she asked again.

"Mother and Father are dead," a soft voice from within the house confessed.

Adha whirled around to glare at her brother. She reached back her hand to slap him when Malik's father grabbed her wrist. "Why did you keep your parent's death a secret?" He questioned.

"Because we need each other! We're family, the only family we have left, and no one's going to separate us!"

Malik's parents, Adha, and the woman - who turned out to be a social worker - talked for a long time. The two boys sat silently in the living room the whole time. Malik sensed Altaïr's distress and laced his fingers with his friend's. They sat there, finding comfort in each other, while they waited for everything to be sorted out.

They convinced Adha that she couldn't keep living like they were. Eventually, they'd run out of money and then what would she do? How would she protect her brother then?

"Adha," Malik's mother called out in a soothing voice, "let us care for Altaïr. We all love him and he'll have good home."

"No," she groaned as tears rolled down her face. First, her parents died and now they wanted to take away her brother? No, she wouldn't be able to handle that.

Finally, Altaïr and Malik walked into the room where the adults were talking - still holding hands - and he spoke. "Adha, it's alright. I trust them."

Adha widened and began to sob. Altaïr wrapped his arms around her to comfort her pain and the sight broke Malik's heart; he realized that Adha treasured Altaïr as much as he treasured Kadar.

That was how Altaïr was adopted into his family. Adha moved in with a friend of hers that lived out of state and their communication ended there.

For the first few nights, Altaïr would cry himself to sleep, but Malik's comforting presence was enough to lull him into a peaceful slumber. Even after Altaïr had gotten over the loss of his sister, he and Malik continued to share a bed, only so they knew the other was close if they were needed.

**So, yes. A cute/depressing flashback for you~! ;D**

**Credit to my wonderful Beta, Brilliantmemories, who's FANTABULAR and just started with this chapter. She's my usual for Gone in the Wind. :3 Thank you lots hun! XDDD**

**Comment for me guys! The comments - and the nagging of one of my friends who reads this - makes me update faster! **

**NEXT CHAPTER BE A LEMON FOR YOU ALL.**


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